Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' I: It's That Time of Year
by endless-fever
Summary: Dan's not as okay as he wants himself and everyone else to believe he is.


Title: Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' I: It's That Time of Year   
Author: Jadecow   
Email: jadecow@hotmail.com   
Summary: Dan's not as okay as he wants himself and everyone else to believe he is.   
Rating: PG-13   
Spoilers: Draft Day, The Local Weather, Quo Vadimus…Basically the general second season story line...   
Notes: This is a first in a series of fics. The next will come out as soon as it's written. Feed back is always wanted, especially if you feel that the characterization is off. Understand that I'm a nineteen-year-old female college student trying to write from the prospective of a thirty-something male. All opinions about characterization and the story in general will be considered while I write the next in the series. 

~*~   
Bobbin' 'n' Weavin' I: It's That Time of Year   
By Jadecow   
~*~   
Sometimes denying the fact that you're mentally ill was the same as denying being physically ill. You keep saying, no I'm fine, pushing off reality until you wind up puking in a toilet and realizing you're sweating. Be it from the flu or your own fucked up mental processes. 

But that's how I've always handled it. That's why I throw up rather then just admitting to myself why I'm starting to get nervous. That I'm driving myself insane and not even realizing it. You deny the mind it's release, you deny accepting the fact that you're putting too much pressure on yourself to be sane, and then your body reacts and you and you start to shake. Which is a warning sign for all the fun to come. Sweating and nausea that's never helped by the fact that you have to make an excuse to leave while feeling bile rise up in the back of your throat. 

I thought I was okay again. I thought the near complete breakdown after watching Oscar Parish lose something he worked his entire life for was gone. I thought that Draft Day 2000 --that's how I always think of that day, full title and with the capitol letters-- was forgiven. I thought that they all liked me again, and I thought that working under new owners would let me be able to sleep again without worrying how bad work was going to change. 

In the end, it only changed a little. By the middle of August pretty much the only thing that really changed was the personal relationships around me. Dana and Casey were finally admitting the fact that all they've wanted to do for almost two decades is tear each other's clothes off. Jeremy and Natalie, who were never really good at hiding the fact that they did on many occasions tear each other's clothes off, were back together. I felt happy for all of them. Really. I just couldn't stand it sometimes at rundowns. Casey would never takes his eyes off Dana and Jeremy and Natalie sometimes held hands under the table. They were all so damn happy, it made me so much more aware of how unhappy I was. 

The moment I realized that something was once again wrong with me, that I wasn't half as together as it thought I was, was when four people from Quo Vadimus came in. They hung around all day, driving me absolutely insane, and I wasn't the one they were stalking. They spent the day following Dana around like four little ducks after their mother. I'm surprised she lasted the whole day without a word, but Dana was still in a daze about not loosing the show that almost everything was okay with her. Then they decided they wanted to watch the show from the studio. 

There's a reason I never tried acting in college: the live audience that stares at you. For someone who couldn't last more then two minutes at a table in the cafeteria, the idea of all those eyes on me was unthinkable. I've never truly been comfortable with people watching the show from the studio; I used to hate it when Rebecca did. But there's a difference between being uncomfortable and being physically ill. 

It was one of the absolute worst experiences I ever had at work. They just stood there, in the corner of my vision, always in edge of my vision, no matter what camera I looked at, taking notes and nodding. I made it twenty minutes, my voice odd and sounding strange to my own ears, but making it none the less. During breaks Casey and I didn't talk much except for what was coming up, the four extra sets of ears present even then. 

I know the exact moment I starting to really lose it. I made a joke, a joke that Casey had laughed at in the office when I read it to him. None of the observers --intruders really-- laughed. They had laughed when Casey made some crack about a football coach, I can't remember the words to the joke now, couldn't then. I started thinking about these four people, intruders, observers, and how they were representatives of the viewing audience. And that no one laughed. No one found me funny, and no one saw me as anything other then a side kick to Casey. 

That's when my palms started sweating. And then the shaking that I hoped was just my hands and not my whole body. I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel my hands, but I could see the little dots of sweat on my hands, I couldn't feel my face, but I knew the plastic grin was there, always there, for the entire show. My mouth was dry, the Sahara of dryness, I couldn't swallow. Dimly, I realized I wasn't really breathing either. But none of those thoughts were on my mind, it was simply the thought of millions of people watching me, millions of eyes attached to brains that thought I was there as a sidekick. That I was Ed McMahon. 

I lost it at a decent time, Casey was the one talking, and I was the one with the sickly, plastic grin on my face. His voice drifted in and out of my ears and I thought of all the famous sidekicks. Everyone knows who they were, but given the choice in the matter, you'd run to Johnny for an autograph. 

It wasn't a really clear mental process. It was just random thoughts, images, and the idea of it all. The idea that no one really thought much of me other then that person that was on air with Casey, that smiled a lot and told some unfunny jokes. That I was responsible for so much pain in my family. That I had helped to end a life of someone much better then me. That I was a complete fake, as false as the smile on my face. 

All because some suits didn't laugh. I know it's funny now. It wasn't then. Then I was having a near breakdown on air. Casey took us to commercial, that was the best words I ever heard. I just smiled and bobbed my head. And then leapt to my feet after the word 'out.' 

I guess I stood up too fast for someone who wasn't breathing. I caught myself on the desk, palms flat, eyes closed. My stomach summer salted, and I could feel my body again. My arms were shaking, I was shaking. I was sweating all over, and I was hardly breathing still. I wanted to be numb again. 

"Danny?" Casey's voice, concerned and sounding too loud but far away at the same time, broke the haze. 

I opened my eyes and saw the four men looking at me, a little surprise on their corporate faces. Casey's hand touched my arm and I looked at him, not liking how much energy it took to turn my head. His eyes were wide, surprised and worried. I wanted to tell him I was okay, but I was afraid to open my mouth. Opening my mouth when I felt that close to throwing up was a bad idea. 

There were a lot of voices, people coming out of the control room to see what the hell was going on. Someone, I think it was Jeremy, told me to sit down and put my head between my knees. I did as told, or Casey made me do as told. I'm not sure. His hand stayed on my shoulder as I tried to breathe. The blood came back to my head, making my head ache. 

My stomach did I another flip and I knew what was coming. I wanted to warn them all, to tell them to let me up, but there was a crowd. They were all swarming in, confused, a few of them were asking Dana what to do, but pretty much everyone else was trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me. Someone called one minute back and I tried to stand up again. Casey pushed me back down. 

"Just sit." He suggested. 

I shook my head, trying not to look at everyone around me, trying not to admit that their mere presence was making my skin crawl. That they all were making me shake and sweat more. I tried to stand up and more then just Casey pushed me back down. I couldn't open my mouth because I knew what happened if I did. 

There were a bunch of voices asking me if I was okay, many people saying my name, and very many people close to me. I couldn't hold it in. I bent over and threw up on my shoes. And Casey's leg, he was kneeling next to me, and Dana's shoes. I think I got Natalie as well. 

Let me tell you now: nothing scatters a crowd like vomit. Everyone kind of jumped back, Casey looked truly grossed out, as did Dana and everyone else. I think someone let out an 'oh shit.' Maybe it was me. I kept my head between my knees until the smell made me realize I was going to throw up again. This time when I stood up, no one really tried to stop me. 

I ran into the bathroom on legs that didn't want to hold my weight. I kept retching until I had nothing left, dry heaving after that. Thinking of all the people who saw me do that, of all the people who would hear about it, and knowing that I'd have to explain myself to Casey and Dana and Natalie and Isaac and maybe even Jeremy who asked little questions, made me retch even harder. 

Oddly enough, it was Jeremy who came in to the bathroom. After I assumed I could write him off. My stomach had finally realized there was nothing in it. I was leaning back against the stall wall, enjoying how cold the tiles of the floor felt underneath my legs. I even managed to flush the toilet before Jeremy came in. He stood a few feet back, looking at me through the open stall door. 

"Shouldn't you be in the control room?" I asked, my voice was shaky, uneven. 

"You should be at the desk, but you're not." 

He had a fair point. "Casey okay by himself?" 

"That's what I was sent to ask you." 

"I'm not Casey. I don't know if he's okay by himself." 

Jeremy managed a half smile at the lame attempt at humor. "No. I mean, are you going to come back on? We've got thirty-three more minutes...He can do it himself." 

He added the last part a little too quickly, like he realized I wasn't okay to go on and wanted to keep me calm. "I'm going home. I think I'm coming down with the flu or something." I used the wall to stand up. 

"You take flu shots every year." 

I did not want to have a discussion with Jeremy over this. I closed my eyes, opened them, and refocused on Jeremy, who looked even more concerned. If that was possible. "I don't know what it is, Jeremy." 

He just looked at me like he knew I was lying. For a moment, I thought about telling it all to Jeremy, in the men's room, after loosing my dinner on the set during a broadcast. But I just shook my head again to his unanswered question and moved to the sink and splashed water on my face. I noticed my hands were still shaking and stopped what I was doing. I felt suddenly drained again, thinking of what the shaking really meant. I leaned against the wall and slid down it, landing ungracefully on the tiles. I buried my face in my hands and commanded my body to stop shaking. It didn't listen. 

"Dan?" 

Why was it that everyone thought they could get a comment from me just by saying my name? Jeremy came closer. I could hear his footsteps on the tiles. He stopped so close to me that I could feel his body heat, and dimly realized how cold my body probably was. 

"Do you want me to call a doctor?" 

He didn't say what kind of doctor. I think he was thinking of Abby. Jeremy's not a stupid guy. I shook my head. "I'm okay." 

"Define okay." 

I sat up and stood, again taking more effort then I really thought I had. "Okay enough to get home. Tell Casey I said I'm sorry." 

Jeremy just nodded and looked at me the way he did after Draft Day 2000, like he was looking at someone who was on the verge of completely snapping. Not judging, just worried. But like I thought I would be able to, I brushed him off a little too easily. 

It took me a lot longer then usual to change, my hands were still shaking. I almost gave up, but my clothes smelled horrible. Wardrobe would love me. I left with fifteen minutes of the show remaining. Everyone was busy. I didn't have to look at them and I didn't have to explain myself. 

Basically, I ran.   
~*~   
Home wasn't much better. There were two calls on my answering machine. I hit play as I grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and sat on the couch. 

The first one was my mother. "Danny, I was watching your show and you didn't look very good. Then you weren't there. Are you coming down with something? Give me a call, I haven't heard from you in a while." 

I, not we. Me, not us. I don't remember when my mom stopped pretending my father loved me. Hell, I don't know when she stopped pretending my father cared if I was even alive. It was a thin effort that everyone saw through, but sometimes it made me feel better. She doesn't do it anymore. That's why I don't call her half as much as I should. Because there's this awkward silence after she suggests that I talk to him and then I make some excuse to get off the line. I only call her from the office now, and use the 'oh, wait, there's something going on' excuse a lot more then I should. 

The second call was just as fun. Rebecca to tell me that she, too, had been watching and noticed that I was first out of it, then not on air at all. I thought about calling her, but didn't. I was avoiding her, a task much easier to complete now that she didn't work for CSC. I wasn't mad at her, but I was hiding. 

I'm surprised I didn't get the hint about my depression sooner. I was pushing her away for no reason. At the time I told myself it was because I was tired after work and I didn't have the energy to be good company. In truth, it was because I didn't have the energy to lie. 

Instead of returning either call, I flipped channels until the phone rang. I let the answering machine pick up. The message on there is the one the machine came with --I hate the sound of my voice when I record those damn messages. 

"Danny, it's Casey. I know you're there-" 

I sighed and picked up the phone, trying to sound half-awake. "Hello?" 

There was a second while Casey processed that I picked up, and probably realized I was wide-awake. "Hey." 

Awkward silence. I cleared my throat, and apologized again. 

"What are you sorry for?" 

"Throwing up on you. And making you finish the show alone." 

"It wasn't that big of a deal." 

"I threw up-" 

"Danny, I've changed diapers. A little vomit is nothing...Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Oh, yeah fine would be the best word to describe how you looked before losing dinner on the set." 

"I think it was what I ate for dinner." 

There was a pause, and I knew what was coming. I should have realized it earlier, before I tried to lie. "We ate the same thing for dinner." 

I really did not want to deal with him trying to be concerned. "You hardened your stomach on ten years of Lisa's cooking." I couldn't even remember what dinner was. I just closed my eyes and hoped he'd let me get away with it. When the silence stretched until I couldn't stand it, I opted for humor. "Hey, at least you know to let me stand up next time." 

"I'm sorry about that. I was really more worried about the fact that you almost did a header into the desk." 

"I caught myself." 

"Barely." 

"Casey, I'm tired. Can we talk tomorrow?" 

"That's why you were sleeping." 

When you want people to stick their heads in and ask how you are, they don't. When they do, you don't want them to. "I was waiting for your call. I knew you'd just wake me up" 

"That almost sounded convincing." 

"I'm hanging up now." 

"Because that's easier." 

"Goodbye Casey." 

"Dan--" 

I hung up before he could say anything else. I threw the cordless phone before I realized how angry I was. It bounced off the wall above the entertainment center and shattered. That was actually the third or fourth one I broke doing that. Another reason I call why my parents from work --I'm less inclined to spaz and throw a phone across the room. 

I went to bed hating myself and everyone else. It was a long time before I could sleep. A very long time. There was sunlight reaching in through my window when I gave in and took one of the sleeping pills Abby wrote a prescription for. She wrote it during the time in between Draft Day 2000 and Passover, when the circles under my eyes got so bad that makeup complained. I hadn't really used them since. I try to stay away from anything slightly addictive. But the idea of facing everyone without any sleep after the little performance I gave them wasn't appealing.   
~*~   
I woke up to someone knocking on my door. Not knocking --pounding. I swear I have the only apartment in New York that doesn't have an eyehole in the door. Judging by the fact that my door was vibrating in the frame, I knew it wasn't Dana or Natalie. Unless they were ramming themselves into it. 

I threw open the door and was only half surprised to see Casey standing there. I just turned around and walked back into my apartment, sitting on the couch. He followed me in, stood by the window with his arms folded. 

"I tried calling you for almost three hours." 

I looked at the clock, it was almost two. I ran a hand through my hair. "I, uh, think my phone's broken." 

Casey had to step over the pile of broken plastic to get to the window. He looked at it again. Irrationally, I wanted to throw the pieces at him. Instead, I stayed on the couch and couldn't bite back a yawn. 

"Are you coming to work?" 

"Yeah, I forgot to set my alarm." 

"You mean your alarm clock has survived?" 

"I have never thrown an alarm clock because someone on the other end was pissing me off." 

"I didn't know concern sent you into such a frenzy." 

"It wasn't a frenzy." 

There was a pause, Casey trying to figure out what to say. Finally, he just nodded towards my bedroom. "Go get dressed. I'll wait for you." 

I shook my head. More time with Casey was not what I needed. "Go back to work before Dana gets mad at the two of us." 

"She's not mad at you." 

I shrugged. "Doesn't even matter though, does it? Because four of Trager's minions saw me completely loose it on the set, during a broadcast." The words were out before I realized I shouldn't be saying them. Not to Casey. 

"Danny, they're not going to fire you for getting sick." 

"Gave a good impression, though didn't it?" 

"It's not like it was your fault." 

I just shrugged at that and went into my room. I took my time showering and dressing. I cut myself shaving, rushing through it. I thought about how when I met Casey I didn't even have to shave everyday, and managed to nick myself again. 

Casey was at least sitting on my couch when I came out of the bathroom, wiping at the blood on my chin and cheek. He looked at me oddly. As odd as Casey ever looks. 

"I guess I should buy an electric." 

"It would probably be safer." 

I thought of eating something, but I couldn't get myself to even think of food past that. I already knew that Casey would do everything in his power to shove at least two meals down my throat.   
~*~   
By time six o'clock run down was over, I wanted to slam my head into a wall. Preferably through the glass door of the conference room. I was tired of acting half-sick so everyone would stop saying 'wow you look better.' And Casey hovering over me but pretending not to be worried was driving me up the wall. It was a mess of questions and concerns that were driving me even more insane. The sad part was that none of them really knew that what was driving me to throwing up was essentially them. 

After the six o'clock run down, I was in our office trying to figure out how to get out of dinner. Lunch was lead sitting in my stomach and I really did not feel like getting any looks from Casey if I refused to go get dinner. I came to the conclusion that anything short of me throwing up on my shoes for the second night in a row wouldn't work. So I just pretended to write and tried to ignore every time Casey looked at me. On the twelfth time in five minutes --I swear it was that, I was counting-- I called him on it. 

"Casey." I actually wasn't sure what to say, but that did it. He looked up. 

"What?" 

"I'm not going to explode if you don't look at me every five seconds." 

"Sorry, just a little worried." 

"Don't be. I'm fine." 

"Today, right now, you're fine. Yesterday, not so fine. This morning, not so fine either." 

"I was fine this morning." 

"Technically, it was afternoon, and no you weren't fine. I was contemplating kicking your door in when you finally answered. I was knocking for ten minutes, Danny." 

"I was tired." 

"You were drugged." 

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. 

"Don't even tell me you weren't, because I know you. You wake up when someone sneezes." 

"I couldn't sleep." 

"You told me you were already asleep when I called, and then you told me you were tired." 

"I wasn't asleep, I lied about that. But I was tired. You can be tired and not be able to sleep, that's pretty much how insomniacs lives their lives, Casey." 

"That's not the point." 

"What the hell is the point then? That I lied to you about being asleep? That I'm tired but I can't sleep? Well then I'm sorry!" I could feel the tension creeping into my voice. Hell, my whole body was tensing up. 

"No, the point is that you feel the need to lie to me. Why? What do you think I'm going to laugh at you for having trouble sleeping?" 

I almost told him the truth, all the reasons why I've been keeping everything in my head to myself and not sharing it with him. But instead I opted for anger. It's just easier that way. "Because then you act like you have all day and drive me insane with the looks!" 

"I'm sorry for showing a little concern. It wasn't the flu last night, obviously, it wasn't food poisoning or they would have had a very boring show with the two of us in the bathroom. So what the hell was it? Maybe if I knew why you were spontaneously freaking out I could--" 

"First off it wasn't a 'freak out' and second you can't do anything but annoy the living hell out of me! And you do a good job without knowing why. So just leave it." 

"No. I'm not just leaving it. When it affects my sho-" 

"-We are NOT getting into the my show crap again, are we? It affected one show, Casey. How about all the shows you screwed up when you were getting divorced and I didn't say anything? Better yet, all the times I defended you? Or, even all the times I left it alone because you asked me to? Why they hell can't you just shut your damn mouth and leave me alone!" I screamed the last part, so loud I think I got a few looks from the newsroom. We were both staring each other down by then, standing less then a foot apart. 

"That was different." 

"Why, Casey, because you said so?" 

"No! Because yesterday wasn't the first time I was stuck doing a show by myself after you flaked out!" 

They sent me home after I embarrassed him on Draft Day 2000. I wanted to say something but the words died in my mouth. Casey continued ranting. 

"I never once left you at that desk alone because of what was going on with my personal life. I never embarrassed you because I was unhappy with my life." 

"Go to hell, you pompous, self-righteous jackass!" Not the world's most intelligent come back. 

"You want to start name calling, Danny? I've got quite a few that would fit you." 

I knew he was going to say it. I knew it in my gut, and I knew what my reaction would be. I almost backed off, just to not hear it. But my own stupid pride and anger wouldn't let me. I felt sick before he said it. 

"You're insane, not even like jokingly insane. You are full out crazy! And you--" 

I could have reacted two ways. I could have broken down completely, or gotten even angrier. Since my goal in life had become not breaking down at work, I got mad. Very mad. So mad that all I could see was Casey, everything else was gone. And I hit him. As hard as I could. It wasn't a tap to get him to shut the hell up --it was an attempt to take his head off. 

At the time I was a little proud to see that the punch I threw hit him squarely in the jaw and knocked him completely off his feet. He landed half on the ground, half on the couch. He just stared up at me, rubbing his jaw, completely surprised. I don't think he even saw it coming. 

One look in his eyes and any hope I had of not getting sick for a second night in a row was gone. I left him on the floor and sprinted to the bathroom, and once again lost everything I ate that day. I was shaking by the time I was finished, but I had a feeling that this one wouldn't stop. I tried to get myself together before I went to Isaac's office. Through the open door to our office, which I had to pass, I could see Dana sitting on the couch next to Casey. She glared at me through the door. 

I didn't even knock on Isaac's door. I just went in, it actually took two tries to get the door open, my hands were sweating and shaking too hard. He was on the phone with Ester --I could tell by the smile on his face and how relaxed he looked. I sat and waited. I didn't have to wait long. 

"Are you all right?" He asked as soon as he hung up the phone. 

I didn't look at Isaac, I focused my eyes on the floor. "No. I need to go home." 

"You're not going to be sick again are you, because the bathroom-" 

I shook my head. "Don't worry. I already did that." 

Isaac stood and came over to me. "It's a little late to get a replacement." 

"I'm--I can't--" I couldn't find the words and just kept on looking at the carpet, trying to stop the burning behind my eyes. I didn't want to cry. Isaac put his hand on my shoulder. 

"Danny, you're shaking." 

I nodded weakly, hoping that if I kept my head down, Isaac wouldn't see the tears that escaped. "I really can not do the show tonight. It would be a bad idea." 

"Okay. We'll find someone." 

I swallowed, tried to build my courage. "I, uh, just did something really stupid. I think someone will tell you eventually." 

"What?" 

"I decked Casey…And." My voiced died, I tried to swallow, but I couldn't. A few more tears squeezed out. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands. 

"Why?" 

"I don't know." 

I sighed, it came out more like a groan. I thought about how easy it would be to just give up hiding and cry to Isaac. He'd let me, but I couldn't. I couldn't risk making the one person who never really passed judgment on me think I was insane. I forced myself to look at him, but I only met his eyes for a second before looking back at the carpet. 

"Daniel, what's going on?" 

"I really don't know…I think I need to be away from work for a while. I know it's short notice, and I know I flaked out two nights in a row now." 

"I wouldn't call last night flaking out. Your were physically ill." 

I sighed and bit the bullet. "I was physically ill ten minutes ago, it doesn't mean I was sick." 

He looked at me evenly. "Okay. Either way, last night was understandable. Tonight…" 

"I'm flaking. But I don't believe me staying around will be productive." 

"Did you hit him hard?" 

I nodded. "It wasn't a love tap." 

"Did you hurt him?" 

"I punched him in the face, Isaac. Of course I hurt him." 

"Danny." 

"I know. Suspend me, fire me, I really don't care." 

"What truly scares me, Danny, is that you don't." 

"Right now, I really don't." 

There was a long, excruciating pause until Isaac spoke again. "Take some sick time until I can get the vacation time through." 

I nodded. "Thanks." I stood up. "If you can't get someone--" 

"I'll call you. Go home and get some sleep. You look tired." 

I almost laughed out loud at the thought of sleeping. Instead I just nodded and stepped out of the office with another thank you. I kept my head down as I walked through the newsroom and into our office. Casey and Dana were still sitting on the couch. I couldn't look at either of them as I went for my coat. 

"Where are you going?" Dana was pissed, I could hear it in her voice. 

"I'm going home." 

"What?" 

"I. Am. Going. Home." I said it slowly, focusing on Dana and not Casey. They were sitting painfully close to each other. 

"Do you honestly think this is the right time to get snippy?" 

I looked down. "No. But I'm still going home. Isaac cleared it. I think I'm out for the week, actually." 

Casey stood up. "You're running?" At least I didn't break his jaw. 

"I'm not running." I couldn't look him in the face. He actually blocked my way to the door. I clenched my hands. I really did not want two confrontations with Casey in one day. In less then an hour. 

"Do you want to hit me again, Danny?" 

He was teasing, knowing he was doing. I hated him. For only the second time since I've known him, I seriously thought I hated him. I knew I was going to start tearing up again. I knew it, and I hated him even more for it. 

"Casey, please." 

I met his eyes for half a second, long enough to see that half the anger that I thought he had wasn't there. But there was a nice red spot on the left side of his face. He stepped aside. And I left.   
~*~   
What happened was my own fault. I was tried, I was speeding. It was that time of day right before sunrise where you can almost see, but not quite. I wasn't even sure where I was. After getting home I lasted a few hours staring at the walls of my apartment before I realized what I needed was to get out of the city. So I packed a bag and got in the car and drove. 

At the time of the accident, I had probably been driving for six or seven hours. I was somewhere upstate, about as lost as you can ever really be off the thruway. The plan was to drive until I couldn't keep my eyes open, in circles if I had to, and find some hotel somewhere and sleep. 

I never got to a hotel. I was on this deserted road, no streetlights, winding, going at least seventy. So yeah, just the road you want to wind up on when you're standing right on the edge of a mental breakdown. I rounded a corner and there was this woman with a dog walking up the middle of the street. 

Just like that, she was there, and about to get ran over. So I hit the breaks, and turned the wheel the other way. Which would have been fine if the side of the road didn't slope down. What followed was a very painful and dizzying experience. I'm lucky I wasn't thrown from the car, because I have that much self-preservation to not where a seat belt while speeding. 

I think I hit my head before the damn thing stopped rolling. Everything after that is foggy. I think I blinked in and out of consciousness. I remember the woman helping me out of my car, this woman half my size managing to help me away from the car and up to the street. A paramedic asking my name. At the hospital, someone asked me if I had someone to call. By then I was drugged and confused. I gave them Casey's number. 

I guess they put me in a room. Someone must have called Casey because the first time I was really aware of my surroundings, he was there. Just like that, I opened my eyes and he was sitting in one of the chairs. He gave me the smile you give in these situations -the one that says I'm relieved your okay, but I'm still pissed with you. 

There was a silence. Once upon a time, I actually could sit in silence with Casey and not be disturbed by it. The fact that my mind still felt like it was wrapped in cotton really didn't help the situation. I think I would rather have faced my parents then Casey. 

"You should wear a seat belt." 

I tried not to show how much his lack of concern hurt. So I tried to joke. "Advice that probably would have helped me a couple hours ago." 

"A day ago." 

"What?" 

"You got here yesterday." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. I got here late last night." 

"Wow." 

"Yeah...I'm not sure which of us owes Bobbi a favor. She filled in for me yesterday on sort notice." 

"I guess she doesn't hate me then." 

He smiled. "Nope." More silence, then: "How do you feel?" 

"Not much." 

"That's a good thing." 

I looked down at myself, but really couldn't tell what hurt. All I could see was that my left arm was in a sling. I guess Casey understood the look. 

"You're lucky. You only broke your arm and two of your ribs. And you got a bunch of stitches on the side of your head. You almost cracked your skull open, so they said your head's going to hurt for a while. Plus the various bumps and bruises from being tossed around the inside of your car. But nothing too bad considering you flipped a car while not wearing a seat belt." 

"You're mad at me for having a car accident." 

He just looked at me. For a long time, there was silence. Casey again broke it. "Why am I the one you had called?" 

"If you don't want to be here, you can leave." 

"And how are you going to get home? You can't drive yourself. You don't have anything to drive anyway." That was his excuse. Not that he wanted to be there to make sure I was okay, but that he didn't want me stranded in upstate New York. 

I sighed, and then regretted it. That hurt. For a brief moment, it felt like someone was stabbing me in the side. When I opened my eyes, Casey was leaning forwards. 

"I can't fight with you right now." 

It was his turn to sigh. He sat back in the chair, not breaking eye contact with me. "They think you'll be released today. You weren't the picture of coherency before. They were worried about the head injury." 

"Yeah, I, uh, don't remember anything clearly." 

Casey wanted to say more, I could tell, but there was a knock on the door and a doctor came in. I wanted to thank the doctor for doing that. He really only put off the conversation I knew was coming.   
~*~   
By the time we got to the motel, a half-hour drive away from the hospital, I wanted to scream. Casey was being quiet which meant he was mad. Every single bump the road, there were quite a few, sent waves of pain through my side and head. 

"You're not going to make it home." Casey said as he pulled the car to a stop. 

"Sure I will." 

"If you saw how white you look right now…" He trailed off and threw open his door. 

I got out a lot slower. I stood there while he went around to the back of the car and pulled my suitcase out of the trunk. He smiled at the look I gave him. 

"The cops gave me all your stuff in your car --what was salvageable, anyway." 

I didn't say anything and just followed him to the room. Ours was of course on the second floor of the building. The stairs hurt. When walking hurt and breathing hurts, stairs are really going to hurt. Casey stopped walking when I did, thankfully at the top. 

"Please don't pass out." 

I don't know if it was his idea of a joke, or if he really meant it. He looked worried enough to actually mean it. "I'm not gonna pass out." I said, walking forwards, like I was proving him wrong, like I was defying him. 

I devoted everything in me to get to the room, but it felt like I walked a mile to get there. The first thing I realized when I opened the door was that it was a double, Casey obviously thought ahead to me staying there for the night. That was oddly comforting. I laid down on the first bed and let my eyes close. Casey didn't say a word.   
~*~   
I woke up to Casey shaking me. He smiled. 

"I have dinner." 

Sitting up was hard. It hurt. Casey watched me, then looked at his watch. He searched around the mess on the table and found the bottle of painkillers. "Oh, you should have taken these a while ago." 

I gave up on the second attempt to open the bottle and handed it back to him, not really looking him in the eyes. That was one of the more annoying parts, I do everything with my left hand. To do things you don't realize you need two hands for with only your weaker hand isn't a picnic. Having to have Casey help me like I was a damn child made it that much worse. 

He thankfully didn't say anything and handed me two of the pills and a soda. Eating didn't appeal, still, but I knew I would be harassed until I did. I only managed to eat half the sandwich he had gotten from some deli, he didn't say a anything about me leaving half of it there. 

In fact, he didn't say a anything at all. Which did nothing for my paranoia about him hating me. I went back to lying down, it was really the only way I could be and not have stabbing pains in my side. After a half-hour of flipping channels, I couldn't stand it. I sat up and looked at him, he was still sitting at the table, watching me. I decided fighting was better then the silence. 

"Casey." 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry I had them call you." I talked quickly. "I had a bleeding head wound at the time. They were asking me questions and I couldn't really see straight. It was automatic." 

"You think I'm mad you called me?" 

"Well you don't seem happy about it." 

He shook his head and sat on the other bed. "I'm mad at the way you've been lately, Danny." 

"Yeah, crazy." 

"I didn't mean to say that." 

"You still meant it." 

"At the time, yeah." 

I shrugged, another action that wasn't a good idea to do. Again, I became fascinated with the carpet. "It's the truth." 

"Which is why you decked me." 

"The truth hurts." 

"Yeah, the one telling it." 

"I'm sorry for hitting you." 

"I knew you were the second after you hit me. Not everyone who punches you in the face throws up after they do it...Unless they're drunk, maybe." The last part was a sad attempt at humor. 

"It was out of line." 

Another short silence, then: "I pushed you on purpose." 

"Why?" 

"To get some kind of reaction out of you!" 

I didn't say anything. 

"And I was mad, but part of it was to push you into telling me what the hell is wrong." 

"Well that plan backfired." 

"Yeah. It did. You instead decided to take a vacation and try to get yourself killed." 

"It wasn't intentional." 

"No, of course not. You were driving all night, I'm sure. The woman you almost ran over said you were speeding. One of the doctors I talked to said that during the winter they close down that road because so many people wipe out, yet you felt it safe to speed on it." 

"Yeah, Casey, it was me subconsciously trying to commit suicide." 

Casey sighed. "Dan, that's not what I meant." 

"Then what the hell did you mean?" 

"You're scaring me. That's my point. I'm honestly scared that there's gonna be a next time and you're not going to be as lucky. That whatever guardian angel was around you yesterday is not going to be around the next time." 

"I didn't know you believe in angels, Casey." 

"Nice try. You know what I'm talking about." 

"Do we have to do this now?" 

"Well, you can't run very far, so it seems like a good time to me." 

"Yeah, corner 'em when they're weak and half drugged." 

"That's my style, I guess…Danny, I'm serious. What the hell is going on?" 

I laid back down. If I was lying down, then I couldn't see him. I stared at the water-damaged ceiling and sighed. "I don't know." 

"You have to know some of it." 

"I'm just…" I sat back up, realized I had my shoes on the bed, but decided I didn't have enough energy to kick my sneakers off. The pointlessness of me thinking about that stopped me for a few seconds, then I remembered where I was and I shook my head. "I can't do this." 

"Why not?" 

"Because you are you and you already think I'm fucking psycho!" Okay, in retrospect, yelling, bad idea. I think I realized it the second I couldn't breathe. I cursed myself, I cursed Casey, and laid back down. That sort of eased the pain, but not really. 

"I don't think you're a psycho." Casey said, quietly, when I started breathing again. 

I rolled my head to look at him. "Yes, you do. You think I'm am seriously mentally ill, and part of you wishes that we did lose our show so I would be all the way in California and you wouldn't have to worry about me ruining your career anymore." 

"You done telling me what I think?" 

I stared at the ceiling again, not saying anything. I already felt like I said so much, but knew that a lot more was to come. 

"Danny...What? Do you think I was lying to you on Passover?" 

"No." 

"Then why the hell do you think I'm not happy working with you still? If anything, you're the one who's not happy." 

"It's not the same." 

"Nothing is always the same." 

"No, I mean..." I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry, I couldn't look at him. "What would have happened if CSC got sold before Draft Day?" 

"I'm not following you." 

"If I didn't embarrass you, would you have been more inclined to take the offer in L.A.?" 

"That's what this is about?" 

"No...and yes. Part of it. You haven't answered the question." 

"Danny, you need to let what happened on draft day go. It happened. I do not hate you for it. At the time, yeah, I was really pissed. But in the long run, it was just one day, just one error in judgement." 

"You brought it up when we were fighting." 

"Well, yeah, I was mad. That doesn't mean it's on my thoughts twenty-four hours a day. I told you why I couldn't go to L.A." 

"I know. I just...Do you ever think someone says one thing to cover up another to spare the your feelings?" 

"Yeah, of course." 

"Well, that's what I keep thinking...What I did was horrible, and...I don't know." 

"Danny, it wasn't all that bad." 

"Yeah, but it was worthy of you not talking to me for almost a week." 

"Well I've realized how petty I was acting for being so mad. When we were being sold, I didn't like the thought of never working with you again. I didn't like it at all. It made me reevaluate a few things." 

There was silence, and I thought we were done. I stood up, somewhat stiffly and went through my suitcase. There was at least a pair sweatpants. Better then the jeans Casey gave me at the hospital. I got a look at myself in the mirror in the bathroom. I thought I looked bad when I left my apartment. I left my jeans and sneakers on the floor of the bathroom, partially to annoy Casey, but mostly because I couldn't bare the thought of bending down to pick them up. 

When I came out of the bathroom, Casey shut the television off again. I knew right then that it wasn't over in his eyes. I tried to look tired, not much of a stretch, but Casey either didn't care, or knew I was faking it. I laid back down, familiar with the water marks on the ceiling by then. 

"I'm seriously tried, and my damn head hurts. Can I go to sleep?" 

"It's only eight o'clock." 

"This is why I don't like painkillers. They knock me out." 

"Trust me, you'd never make it home without them...Can you do me a favor before you got to sleep?" 

"What?" 

"Call Dana and tell her that you're alive. I only talked to her for a few minutes yesterday when I really wasn't sure what was going on." 

"You dial." 

He grabbed the phone and stared punching in numbers. "Now being a lefty sucks." 

"It's always sucked. It's always sucked to be the person sitting next to me in classes, too." 

There was an actual smile on his face as he said hello into the phone. I guess it would be hard not to smile when you're talking to someone you've loved for so long. Between the wait to find Dana, and the conversation Casey had with her, I was fell asleep. I guess Casey decided to let me, or he couldn't wake me up. I wish he woke me.   
~*~   
I was dreaming. Part of me was aware of that, but not aware enough to wake up. I was in my parent's house. There were a lot of people, all wearing black. I was walking down the stairs, watching all the people in black mill about. I knew it was a wake. Walking through the front room and into the den, I heard a few pieces of the conversations. 

"...horrible accident." 

"...think he was drunk?" 

When I saw the casket, right there in middle of the den, everyone's voices faded out. It felt like I was walking in sand. The casket was closed. I started to lift the lid when a hand slammed it back down. Sam smiled at me. 

"You don't have to open it. You know who's in there." He was smiling. He pointed out a window to where my father was sitting out side, his back towards us. His whole body was shaking. "This is how he wanted it, Danny boy." 

"Sam..." 

My father turned around, he was laughing, a huge smile on his face. 

"He wanted it to be you." Sam laughed. It sounded unlike him, harsh, cruel almost. "Why couldn't you just die this time and make him happy?" 

I woke up with a jerk and became aware of several things at once. Casey was awake, I couldn't breathe, and I knew I was going to be sick. In fact, Casey was awake and watching me. 

"Dan you were talking in-" He started, but I was already in the bathroom. 

I had enough time to lock the door before throwing up for the third time in less then a week. That's not even factoring in the hospital, but knowing me, I probably did. It hurt. I was crying before I was finished, unsure if it was the dream or the pain. I just know that once I started I couldn't stop. Or catch my breath. I just sat there on the floor, crying as quietly as I could and hyperventilating at the same time, my thoughts were an unintelligible mess. 

It was pathetic, really. A grown man sitting on the floor in a bathroom, sobbing like a child. But I knew it was coming, I had been denying it for what felt like years, but really it had only been since Monday. 

I don't think Casey waited very long before knocking on the door. Part of me felt bad for making him worry, but the other half was mad. I didn't want him there trying to pick apart my brain. I hated him or anyone else worrying about my sanity. I hated him about as much as I hated myself. 

I tuned out the sound of him pounding on the door --it had gone from polite knocking to pounding-- and tried to get myself under control. A losing battle. The more I tried to concentrate on not thinking about the reasons I was losing it, the more I cried. The more I tried to concentrate on breathing, the harder it became to even draw half a breath. 

The tattoo of pounding just became a backdrop to everything else. Casey's voice, panicked sounding, could have been coming from miles away. I felt lightheaded, but that paled in comparison to the ache in my chest. 

I know it was only a minute, but it felt like more. What made me stop concentrating on my pain was Casey. He stopped pounding on the door. I was still gasping, but I heard his words very clearly. 

"Danny, I'm about a second away from kicking the door in." 

I laughed. Hell, I giggled. The mental image of Casey kicking the door and then whining about hurting his foot was enough to send me into hysterics. The picture of a sound mind: me laughing at a concerned friend while sitting on the floor in the bathroom after just having thrown up because of a dream my subconscious mind threw at me. 

"I wouldn't laugh. If I kick it in, you're gonna pay for it." 

The laughter died in my throat, a memory, one of those you bury because it just hurts too fucking much, killed it. But it was too late and I was back to crying, moment of hysteria gone. 

"Please, Dan, open the damn door!" He sounded scared. 

I tried to move, but couldn't. Breathing had once again become an issue. "I--I can't." I pushed the words out, my voice hardly above a whisper. I'm still not sure if Casey heard me. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could barely even think. 

I was actually seeing spots. I was pretty sure I was going to pass out, as dimly aware of that as I was aware of the silence from the other side of the door. My whole body felt like lead. I couldn't move. I heard the snap of the door, but didn't have enough energy to look up. For a second, there was nothing but stunned silence from Casey and my gasping. He floated into my view. 

"Danny, are you breathing?" 

An odd question to ask. I would have laughed if I had the energy. I didn't. I couldn't shake my head, it felt like it weighed twenty pounds. I don't know if I passed out or started to. I knew I was on my way, not really seeing anything, when there was a bright spot of fresh pain, on my right cheek. 

Typical Casey, really. See someone in hysterics and slap 'em. Abby would have died if she saw that. But there is a reason people slap hysterical people in movies. It works. My eyes kept watering, but I realized I was breathing. Casey was squatting in front of me, looking a little guilty. It kind of stunned me into calming a little. 

"You-you slapped me." I said, my voice not entirely there. 

For a moment, Casey didn't say anything. He looked scared. He found his voice. "What the hell--" 

"Bad dream..." I looked at the door, hanging oddly on it's hinges. I laughed, it sounded frightening to my own ears. I don't know how Casey took it. "God, Casey, you've been watching too many action movies. Kickin' in doors, slappin' people to calm 'em down." 

I pushed myself to my feet, glad for Casey when he caught me when I swayed. He still didn't say anything. I shook my head, and looked at him. I felt oddly disconnected. Almost drunk. "I'm a little dizzy." I said, leaning on Casey a little harder then I would have liked. 

He frowned, leading me into the room and forcing me to sit down in one of the chairs. As we walked, he spoke. "Well, that could be because you've been hyperventilating for the past few minutes." 

I nodded. "Sounds like a good reason." 

"What the hell just happened?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the table, within reach of me. 

"I told you. Bad dream." 

"About what?" 

"I'll give you three guesses." I grabbed the soda from before, it was flat and warm, but it washed away the foul taste in my mouth. 

"Sam?" He asked, tentatively, like the mere name would set off another round of puking and crying. 

I nodded, rubbed my free hand over my eyes and tried to get them to stop watering. "I don't want to talk about it." 

Casey stood up and shut off the light in the bathroom, I think he was trying to hid his anger. I laughed again. 

"What?" He asked, coming back to the table. 

"I can't believe you kicked down the door." 

He wasn't amused, he was mad. "Why the hell did you lock it in the first place?" 

I shrugged. "I guess I did it automatically." 

"You seriously are paying for the door." 

"I wasn't the one who kicked it down." 

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I should have left you lying on the floor. What the hell--" 

"Repeating yourself." 

"It deserves repeating. You just scared the shit out of me, Danny. And now you're sitting there like everything's okay." 

I gave another lopsided shrug. "Maybe you slapped it out of me." 

His glare softened. "I'm sorry about that." 

"Hey, it worked." 

His look said it all. He thought it worked a little too well. There was a long heavy silence. I busied myself by opening up the bottle of painkillers, something that took more then one try, and swallowing two of the pills, hating the fact that I needed them. 

Casey finally went away from the table and sat down on his bed, turning on the t.v. I looked at the clock, a little disturbed to see it was only nearing eleven, and climbed back on my bed, ditching the sling before lying down. For some reason, they hotel didn't get CSC, so we watched SportsCenter instead and made fun of their anchors. It was off. It was like going through the motions but not really feeling them, or in this case, not really being amused.   
~*~   
It was a memory, not a dream. I blame Casey. Sam was fourteen, I was sixteen. I was in my room, hiding, basically. David and Mom were off checking out colleges for him. Dad was in the house, drunk for some reason I can't remember. But Sam had done something wrong, I can't remember what either. All I remember is trying to read for a class, when I heard my father yelling. Normally, it was just yelling, but when alcohol was involved, it sometimes wasn't. Part of me, that dark part that was always jealous of Sam, didn't want to care. Thankfully, maybe not so much considering how everything went, I didn't give in to that. 

I got up when he threatened Sam. "Samuel, if I kick this fucking door in I swear to God you'll pay for it." 

I wasn't thinking, I guess. Even at sixteen, even before he blamed me for Sam's death, hell, maybe my whole life, my father and I lacked a bond. The few times we could be in the same room together and not have those horrible silences would be when we were watching sports. So I wasn't surprised really, when things got psychical. 

I was smaller, he always had been a heavy guy, he threw me into the wall when I asked him what was going on, my head hit the wall, and for a second I didn't know what hit me. Then I heard Sam crying in the room, probably terrified, and I hit back. Even in the dream/memory it was confused, anger and pain mixed together in a dizzying combination. 

It ended as abruptly as it started, my Dad fuming and me sitting on my ass in middle of the hall. He left the house, I waited until I could hear his car start up in the driveway before I knocked on Sam's door, not even standing up. Sam opened the door and stared at me for half a second before crying.   
~*~   
I woke up to the darkness, holding my breath until I realized Casey was asleep. I let out the tears silently, remembering the rest of that happy day. 

I couldn't get Sam to stop shaking. No matter what I tried. I tried humor, joking that I would try to learn how to duck better. I tried letting him play doctor, putting ice on my eye and poking every bruise until he was happy that I hadn't really gotten hurt. Nothing worked. He just kept telling me that it was his fault I got hurt, and watching the poor kid sob and shake was scaring me. Finally, he cried himself to sleep, and I went in my room. 

I coped the way I always coped when it came to my family. I rolled a joint and smoked. Which I really regret. But it made my face hurt less, and it made me forget how screwed up my family seemed to be. Sam walked in without knocking and just stared at me when he realized what I was doing. He looked horrible; he was always so sensitive. He looked a little scared too, before he crossed the room and sat on my bed next to me. 

He looked me in the eyes and I handed him the joint. I didn't think about it all then. I just wanted that terrified look out of his eyes. It worked. After that night, it became more of a ritual then anything else. Sam's genus never slipped, he never missed a beat in school, but he somehow became a little more outgoing in the process. So I let him, I never once told him to stop, it would have been too hypocritical to. 

Casey's voice yanked me out of reverie. "Dan, are you awake?" 

I felt like I was eight again, laying in a tent in our back yard with Sam, talking in the darkness as much as eight year old and six year old could. Not that Sammy was your average six-year-old. Just laying in the dark and sharing whatever was your mind. I wanted to go back to being eight when it didn't hurt that much. 

I didn't say anything to Casey. I couldn't. I heard him sit up. 

"Danny." 

I found my voice. "I killed him." 

"Danny--" 

"I just wanted him to be happy." I talked over Casey, tears flowing, knowing he could hear it in my voice but glad for the darkness. "He was so damn sensitive, and the way our family was at times, it was killing him. He knew at five years old there was something wrong, and he kept that with him all his life. He was so smart...so sensitive. It helped, it made him smile, until he laughed the first time, I hadn't realized that it was the first time in almost a year he had really laughed." 

I ran out of words and just stared up at the ceiling in the dark. I laughed. It sounded even more broken and bitter then before. "In a weird way, I thought I was helping him." 

There was a long silence. "You didn't tell him to drive high and drunk." 

"Learned behavior, Casey. I did it a few times with him in the car. I was just lucky." 

Another longer pause, I was sure Casey agreed with me. "It wasn't your fault." 

"More mine then anyone else's." 

Casey sighed in the dark. I wiped my eyes, thinking I was spending way too much time crying. 

There was a very long pause, I thought Casey fell back asleep, but then he broke the silence. "Did you ever look at it as him saving you?" 

I didn't say anything. 

"I mean, his death made you--" 

"I know what you mean." I interrupted, more tears running out of my eyes. "It wasn't worth it." 

"What?" 

"It wasn't worth it. His life for mine." 

Another silence from Casey. I could hear him moving around. The light between our beds snapped on. I squinted in the sudden light. Casey did too, but even in the sudden brightness, I knew he was mad. Not simply annoyed, but furious. 

"Fuck you then." He said. 

I can count on one hand the number of times Casey has actually said that to me. All other times we had been drunk. I sat up, trying to ignore all the pain the swift moment set off. I glared just as hard as he did. 

"If this is some ill-conceived tough love plan, Casey, save it and go back to sleep." 

"No." 

"No you're not saving it, or no you're not going back to sleep?" 

"Both." 

"Great. Because this is just what I want right now, you driving me insane--" 

"--I can tell you who did that one and it wasn't me." 

"Shut up! I don't need to do this right now. I don't need for you to be mad at me because I'm doing what you've been annoying me to do all week. You want me to open up, I tell you the truth, and now you're mad!" 

That got silence from Casey. That or the fact that when I tried to stand up I almost fell over. I sat back down on the edge of the bed, silently daring him to try and help me, to say another word. He did, but all the anger was gone from his voice. 

"It's bullshit, Danny. You're not a bad person, and it annoys me to no end that the son of a bitch that's your father makes you believe that." 

For a long time I didn't say anything. Then I found myself talking, not really expecting to share this little bit of family history with Casey, but I did. "He told me he wished it was me, you know that? Right at the hospital --that's where I met my parents after they called-- he had been crying, the man of no emotions cried, but he just looked at me--" Angry at myself I wiped at the tears that escaped, trying to get past the lump in my throat and failed. My voice was strained when I continued. "He looked at me and there was pure hatred in his eyes. He looked me in the eyes and said 'I wish it were you.' Just like that, and then he accused me of killing him." Not for the first time that night, I ran out of words. 

Casey had moved across the two foot gap between the beds and sat next to me. He put his arm around my shoulders, but didn't say a word. Abby did that every once in a while, when she knew I needed to talk. I sighed. 

"It really hurts to know that he would have been glad if I died yesterday..." 

"I'm not entirely sure that's correct." 

"It is." 

"Well, even if it is, which I doubt, he's the only one, Danny. There would have been vast amounts of people who would have been upset." 

I smiled, despite the fact that I was crying again, at the comment, but it didn't last long. "I know, but he's the one that should, without a hesitation, love me. He should just love me." I swallowed. "Even if I did kill his youngest son." I tried once again to wipe away my tears, but it seemed useless. I laughed, it wasn't a happy laugh. It was self-depreciating laugh, and I knew it. "It's that time of year." 

"I noticed." 

"I hate it this time of year...I get like this and everyone hates being around me." 

"No one hates being around you." 

"You don't see to be enjoying it." 

"It doesn't matter if I'm enjoying myself." 

"It doesn't?" 

"Nope. Because I'm your friend and I'd rather you cry or hit me then pull what you did yesterday morning." 

"It wasn't on purpose." 

"I know that. But seriously, Danny, I saw your car. The mere fact that you're talking to me right now is a miracle. We won't even get into the fact that, in the very least, you should be in traction at the hospital." 

"Yeah, God loves me or something...Or he's screwing with me." I laughed at the look Casey gave me, but the laugh still sounded more bitter then amused. "I'm kidding. I'm glad I didn't die, Casey." 

"Good. But that's not the point." 

"What is the point?" 

"The point is that you have to stop being convinced every hates you and accept the fact that we're your friends and we care enough to hang around while you work through whatever you're going through." 

"I don't think everyone hates me." 

"And that's why it's so easy for you to talk to strangers." 

I didn't say anything. 

"Do you really think I never noticed?" Casey prodded. 

I shrugged. "I kinda hoped you didn't." 

"I'm not as blind --or dumb-- as you like to think I am...Is that what happened on Monday?" 

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. 

"Because of the observers from Quo Vadimus?" 

Again I nodded. 

"Well next time say something and we'll keep them out of the studio." 

"Oh yeah 'Hey guys, one of our anchors is insane, do you mind watching in the control room?' would go over just great." 

"Two things: one, Dana would say it and I would back it up if it meant you never repeating what happened on Monday, it scared the hell out of everyone, and two, you're not insane." 

"It's sure as hell not normal to be that nervous because of four people." 

"No, but that's why you're seeing a psychologist, isn't it?" 

"Yeah. Doin' a good job, isn't she?" 

"Well, considering you haven't gone in two weeks, I don't think the blame falls to her." 

I just looked at him. 

"Come on, Danny, it's what you do. When you think you're going down hill, you convince yourself you're not by making sure everyone around you, Abby included, thinks you're happy." 

"I haven't been that good at faking it this time around, have I?" 

"Not really, but you shouldn't have to. Again, the point I've been trying to make." 

"Open up a bit more?" 

"Give the boy a prize! Yes. Please. Because I don't know if I can handle another week like this. I'm not sure if my jaw can handle another week like this." He laughed, taking the edge off the words. 

"I'm sorry about that." 

"Yeah, I know. But I just bitch slapped you in the bathroom so we're even." 

"While I'm glad you're actually catching up to pop culture, Casey, that wasn't a bitch slap." 

"It wasn't?" 

Casey was genuinely confused. Looking at the pure confusion on his face made me laugh. I wasn't entirely sure if the term 'bitch slap' applied or not, but the look on his face was worth it. So was the laugh. Even if it hurt a little. I guess Casey noticed the wince. 

"It's like four in the morning, go back to sleep." 

"Um, Mom, I've been sleeping all day." 

"That's because you need it." 

"Ah, I'm so glad you went for premed and journalism at the same time in college." 

"Dan." 

"I'm going back to sleep, because sleeping has been so productive tonight." 

Casey stood up and sat down on his bed. "It hasn't been a total wash. We've damaged our hotel room, and you just really laughed." 

I really didn't have an argument for that one.   
~*~   
I woke up feeling lighter, hearings Casey's voice and being unable to follow his words for a moment. It took me a minute to realize I was lying on my right side, facing away from Casey, and towards the window. I opened my eyes, then squinted in the light, as Casey's words started to make sense. 

"Yeah, probably today sometime...No, he's sleeping--" 

Deciding that Dana would freak if I didn't talk soon, I rolled on to my back. I smiled at Casey. "I'm awake." 

"It's alive!" Casey intoned into the phone, thoroughly murdering the famous line in the process. "Here talk to him for yourself." 

He tossed the receiver at me, gently enough, but, on reflex, I tired to catch it with my left hand, and wound up getting whacked in the face with it instead. I cursed and grabbed the receiver with my right hand. 

"Hey," I said into the phone, waving off Casey's concern. 

"Your parents paid how much for the Ivy League vocabulary, Daniel?" Isaac asked. 

I smiled. I had assumed it would be Dana. "Um, a lot. But in my defense, Casey's taking advantage of my weakened state and throwing things at my head." 

"'Weakened state'?" Isaac repeated, laughing. 

"Somewhat weakened state." 

"You sound good." 

I looked at Casey, who was sitting on his bed, trying not to look too interested in the conversation, and smiled. "I am good." 

"Except for the weakened state, thing." 

"Except for that." 

"Good. Are you all right?" 

"Better than Tuesday." 

"Good. Get better so you can get back to work. I have to go now, tell Casey that Bobbi is available tonight and Monday if he needs the time off. Peter's filling in for you for as long as necessary." 

"Okay, will do." 

I resisted the urge to lob the phone at Casey, instead hanging it up myself. Just by the way he was standing, I knew Casey was going to suggest or ask something he felt he had to, but didn't want to. 

"You should call your parents. And Rebecca." 

"I'll talk to Rebecca when I get into the city." 

"And your parents...?" 

"They don't have to know." 

"They're gonna notice you're not on t.v." 

"My mother might." 

Casey didn't say anything. 

"Seriously, Casey, there is no reason for me to worry her...Them." 

"All right. It was just a suggestion." 

"No one told Rebecca, right?" 

Casey shook his head. "Dana told me she called the office yesterday, but they didn't give away an secrets. What's the deal with you two?" 

"I've been kinda avoiding her for about a week. More then a week now." 

"Any reason?" 

I shrugged. "It's that time of year." 

He just nodded and went about what he was doing. I realized he was wearing the same clothes. He probably didn't pack a bag. There was something oddly comforting in the idea of him dropping everything. And it made me feel a little guilty. I decided I didn't want to go there and instead asked the time. 

"Almost noon. For someone who didn't want to go back to sleep, you sure slept a lot." 

I got up and went into the bathroom, the previous night's hysteria seeming stupid in the light of day. It always felt that way, though. I don't cry often, but when I do it's a torrent of emotion that usually ends with me feeling like a fool for breaking down. Usually, it was without the benefit of an audience, so getting like that in front of Casey was even worse. I wasn't as embarrassed as I thought I would have been, but it was small consolation. 

Pushing all thoughts away, I tried to make myself presentable. Not an easy thing to do when I couldn't take a shower or shave. There was no way I trusted myself to shave with a razor in my right hand. My face looked bad enough.   
~*~   
"You have no idea how glad I am to be here right now." I said to Casey who entered my apartment behind me. I didn't look at him, just sat down on the couch and sighed. 

It was the road trip from hell. I don't know if Casey was taking advantage of the fact that I was extremely grateful for him being there, or if he was just too thick to realize that the music he listened to the entire seven hour drive made me want to slam my head into the window until I knocked myself out. Of course, but the way I was feeling, it really wouldn't take that much of an effort. 

I felt tired and vaguely nauseous. I'm not sure exactly where the nausea came from. I understood the tired part, that's all I had been feeling really. Except, of course, every time the car hit a bump. Then I felt pain. 

Casey stood by the window again, looking uncertain about what he should be doing. I knew what he wanted and smiled. 

"Dude, go to her already. I'm fine." 

"Danny--" He started. 

I cut him off. "Seriously. It's been three days which is, like, a record for the amount of time you and Dana have been apart since you've started behaving like adults and dating." 

"I'm an adult. I can handle not being around her for a few days." 

"Well, you don't have to be apart a minute longer. Go." I looked him directly in the eyes. "And I've got a few calls to make..." 

"You're gonna call your parents?" 

I shook my head. "Not yet. But I think I should let Rebecca know I'm alive." 

Casey looked like he was considering it, then said: "You don't have a phone." 

I remembered that phones weren't good projectiles and shrugged. "I can use my cell phone. You're out of excuses to stay." 

"Worry isn't a strong enough one?" 

I knew he meant it. Just from the look in his eyes, the slight change in his voice I wouldn't have noticed if I didn't know him for so long. "There's nothing to worry about." 

He nodded, but looked a little hesitant. "You sure. I mean, I love Dana, but if you need-" 

"I'm good. If I'm not, you'll be the first person I call. I promise." 

He seemed to accept that, and nodded finally. I stood up and walked him over to the door, feeling like there was something that needed to be said. There was only one word I could think of. 

"Thanks." 

He nodded then surprised me by hugging me. Lightly, but the emotion was behind it. I couldn't hide the smile, probably one of the few real ones since before Draft Day 2000. Way too long without one. 

Without another word, he was gone. I stared at my cell phone for a very long time before dialing. It got her answering machine, realizing she was probably working late at a job that I still didn't fully understand. 

"Hey, it's me." My voice sounded both hesitant and strangely calm. "We should talk. I've been behaving like an ass lately. And I think I should-" 

"I think you should say 'I'm sorry,' Dan." Rebecca's voice startled me, for a second I couldn't figure out what to say. There was silence. 

"I'm sorry." 

"You sound tired." 

"It's been a rough couple of weeks...Can you come over? I want to talk to you." 

"It's almost midnight, Danny. I work normal hours and I'm tired. You're the one that's apparently on vacation." 

"That's what they said on--" I cut myself off, not really caring what excuse they gave for my prolonged absence. "It's important. And tomorrow's Saturday. You don't do whatever it is you do on Saturdays." 

"It's not important enough for you to come over here, is it?" 

I didn't want to tell her over the phone about the accident. "My car's kind of out of commission and I don't have cash on me for a cab." 

There was a short pause, but I knew I won. "All right." 

I smiled at the small victory and hung up, unsure about how much explaining I would actually do.   
~*~   
"Oh my God, Danny! What happened?" Rebecca blurted after half a second of surprised silence. 

I didn't say anything, just hugged her. Glad to have her in my arms until she hugged me back. I actually let out a cry and pushed myself back. Her face filled up with concern as I tried to catch my breath. 

"I, uh, had a car accident. I'm okay." I forced myself to smile. "Really, I'm okay when people aren't squeezing me." 

"You're really okay?" 

"All things considered, I'm great." I smiled, trying to covey that I really was okay, if a little light headed from the sudden pain. "Come in." 

We sat on the couch, close but not as close as before I stopped calling. "I'm sorry." I said again, knowing that I couldn't say it enough. 

"I know you are. I'm just wondering why you felt like it was okay to just ditch me and not even call." 

"Because I'm extremely stupid when it comes to people I love." 

That didn't even get a response. For a long time there was silence, I cleared my throat, closed my eyes and talked. For some reason it's always easier with my eyes closed. I don't remember my exact words, but I know I told her everything. From Sam to the nervousness with people after his death, to the throwing up on Monday, and the fight Casey and I had on Tuesday, to the need to get out of the city, the fact that I was barely aware while I was driving, even some of the discussions I had with Casey in the motel room. And I know that sometime during explaining everything, she put her arms around me. I know that sometime during it all I cried. And I know that after I was done talking I was glad she didn't say a word. She didn't have to, because she didn't let me go.   
~*~   
The end. 

Please send feedback to: jadecow@hotmail.com --all comments are welcome. 


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